This is the story about one of my most interesting trips during my stay
in Madrid. The one carrying me outside of Europe for the first time. A few
months ago, two friends and I took a trip to Morocco. Even though it can be a little intimidating, being so close to Spain, it
did seem crazy not to go. Luckily my other friends were game so we planned the trip
together. We picked one of the many Rihad hotels/hostels located (we hoped) close to
the center. Unlike most of my other trips, I did not have time to do any
previous research about the destination. My friend, Connie, found some companies that
take you on camel rides in the desert, so that took up a chunk of our to-do
list. Other than that, we planned to hit up the usual tourist sites. We knew
that going to Africa would be entering into a whole different cultural and
societal environment, but I’m not sure we were prepared for our first moments
in the city….
Our first challenge was the language. As we
could only put together a few words in French and no one knew Arabic, we had a
difficult time explaining where our hostel was located to the taxi driver. Our hostel was in the city center on a small, winding street that doesn't allow car access.
Of course, upon recognizing the street name, the taxi driver tried to explain how to get there on foot. Between his French
and the quite awful explanation printed from the hostel website, we had literally
no clue how to get there. The taxi driver stopped at a dark street corner, pointed
down some sketchy looking alley, and started getting out of the car. As he did,
a group of guys noticed the three very obvious female tourists inside the taxi
and approached. We were not sure whether to get out or stay in the cab! The group
surrounded the car and began aggressively questioning us where we were going.
I had actually read about that in the safety section of TripAdvisor; that
people want to guide you to your hotel and then demand payment. We
were bombarded by their requests and I was quickly starting to rethink this
girls-only excursion. (In this moment a male presence would have been greatly appreciated.) Real panic set in when an angry man started screaming at
us. He seemed either drunk or crazy. He heard Connie (from Mexico) speaking Spanish and started yelling at her to go back to Spain and get out of Morocco.
Apparently tension between these two countries still exists. As we tried to get
through the crowd, the man shoved Connie backwards, nearly sending us into a
frenzy. It struck me that this was the first time I’d experienced fear for
my safety since moving abroad. We quickly ducked inside the restaurant in front of us for
refuge. Clearly seeing the panic in our eyes, the proprietor invited us in while the crowd settled down. Obviously used to dealing with tourists,
he apologized for the angry man, informing us that people like that are the
exception in Morocco, not the norm. Tourism does bring a lot of business to the country. He offered one of his restaurant workers to guide us to our destination. Seeing no other option, we agreed.
We made it....thankfully. |
When our ‘guide’
came down, he stuck in his earphones, put up his hood, and voiced the epic
phrase that would become the mantra of our trip, “Don’t be scared, follow me.”
With that, we were whisked out the door, happy to see the crowd gone. We followed
closely behind the guide, afraid we might fall behind his fast pace without
notice as he was jamming out to his ipod. We went down rows of curvy, dimly lit streets, and arrived safe and sound outside the hostel.
Thankfully we hadn't rushed out on our own to find this place, we’d still be
there looking now. We did give him some Dirhams for helping us and he went along
his merry way. Emotionally exhausted already, we nodded our heads as the
receptionist (and everything-else-guy, as he was the only worker) told us all
the marvelous places we could see tonight close to our hotel. As it was already
11 something, I was kind of doubting we would have the guts to wander back out. He assured us that the main plaza, Jemaa el-Fnaa, was just minutes
away and we couldn’t miss it. We got a good laugh when he described the meal we
could eat in the plaza, saying everything was “so, so tasty”.
I think this
always makes me laugh, not only because it just sounds so cute, but because I’ve
heard many other non-English speakers say this phrase. And honestly, you hardly
ever hear it said in any real English speaking context. So we made it no
problem to Jemaa el-Fnaa and tasted the Harira (lentil and tomato soup),
tagine (meat, chicken, or vegetables cooked in a clay pot), and the couscous.
Indeed, they were "so, so tasty".
Tasty tasty tangine. Don't worry, I didn't eat all of this myself. |
Only took this picture because we did buy tea from this man |